


Why Making A Hat Sentient is Not A Good Idea

by BlueFin314



Series: The Butterfly Sort [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Gen, Humor, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFin314/pseuds/BlueFin314
Summary: 1971: Voldemort is rising, tensions are getting tense, and a new generation is starting at Hogwarts. What is a Hat to do?
Series: The Butterfly Sort [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147838
Kudos: 3





	Why Making A Hat Sentient is Not A Good Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, part of the reason I'm posting this now is because I took pity on my poor fellow competitors in the RBC Masquerade. Which means this isn't as refined as it could be, and I have no real intention of updating this regularly, if at all. 
> 
> And please excuse the Sorting Hat song. I cannot write poetry (or anything) to save my life.

James shifted from side to side, waiting for them to finally be let in. He was not nervous. Not at all. There was nothing to be nervous about: every Potter save the odd Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff (and the ones in the branch line that usually went to Beauxbatons) had been in Gryffindor for centuries. He certainly wasn’t going to break the tradition. Though he supposed it might help to actually know how he’d be Sorted, as his parents refused to tell him (now that was one Sorting tradition he was not going to follow) and his aunt and uncle - cousins a few times removed, but aunt and uncle were easier - hadn’t even gone to Hogwarts. 

He’d been too busy arguing about the best Quidditch teams (honestly, who supported the Wimbourne Wasps these days? They might be decent Beaters, but they only ever scored goals through luck or playing hopeless teams) to even ask the other boys. Besides, they were all uncertain about their sortings. If they knew how, surely they’d be less nervous? Couldn’t hurt to ask, though, now they were all recovered from the boat ride. That had been horrible! Why didn’t they just fly, or use the carriages? A broom was far better, and he still didn’t understand why first years couldn’t bring their own brooms, or play Quidditch in a house team. Supposedly, it was to make it fair, as muggleborn or muggle raised kids wouldn’t have had a chance to fly. Admittedly, he and Sirius were the only ones in their group who could, as Remus lived in a muggle town and ‘wasn’t sporty’, and Peter just didn’t want to. It was easy, though! He’d been flying since he could walk, before, even, if the kiddie brooms counted, and he’d only fallen off a few times. Never had worse than a broken arm, though that was without bludgers, and with magic, it wasn’t like it took too long to heal. 

Oh well. He could probably survive for a year without Quidditch - he had a lifetime to do it, though waiting would be hell - or he could astound everyone in the first lesson by flying awesomely and be the youngest player in years. He wouldn’t survive without flying itself, but he could already see lots of potential loopholes. Rules were made to be broken, or at the very least bent. He could borrow a broom from an older pupil, he could use the school brooms, at a pinch, or maybe smuggle a broom in if he had to. That might have to wait until Christmas, since his dad had caught him attempting to stuff his Cleansweep V into his trunk. Maybe a shrinking charm would be better next time, except he wasn’t certain if that was even possible on enchanted objects like brooms. He had a few months to think about it, anyway. 

Right. What had he been planning to do? Oh, yeah, ask about how the Sorting was done. Remus didn’t seem to know, and hadn’t he said something about not planning to go to Hogwarts for some reason or other but then suddenly being able to? Odd, that. Whatever his uncle and aunt might say, Hogwarts was the best wizarding school in the world. Maybe it was something to do with his mum being a muggle and not wanting him to go? It’d be insensitive to ask, and he’d been told off enough for ‘being too curious for his own good’. Or, as Aunt Dorea liked to say, ‘channeling his inner Ravenclaw’, which worked surprisingly well to shut him up. For five minutes or so, anyway. Peter… probably best not to ask him. He looked a little green from the boats. Which left Sirius, who he was getting on with the best anyway. Apart from when it involved Quidditch teams, although he was a staunch ally in defending the awesomeness of Quidditch itself. 

“Hey, Siri, any idea how we’re sorted?” he whispered, or at least tried to. A few people turned to look at them, all seemingly fascinated in hearing the answer. 

“You didn’t know? I thought everyone did. Except maybe mu-ggleborns.” He made no pretence of being quiet, and by then all the first years were looking his way. James was fairly certain he was the only one to notice the slight hesitation in the last word, given most were focusing on his first words. 

“You have to fight a troll.” he said with such a straight face that James believed him. He wasn’t the only one, given the small and not-so-small yelps he heard from behind him. “Only joking! It’s a Hat. A talking, out of tune singing, Hat.” 

A few still seemed doubtful, but Sirius didn’t seem to be lying. Not that James was certain he’d be able to tell, but Dad’s comment before he got on the train about ‘keeping his hair on for the Sorting’ still made no sense, but it was the sort of thing he’d think was funny if there really was a talking hat. James still wasn’t sure where he himself had inherited his sparkling sense of humour, if it wasn’t his dad, and couldn’t be his grandparents either (anybody who thought naming a child Fleamont was a good idea and was completely serious about it had no idea what sort of puns could be formed: ergo, they had no sense of humour, or common sense, for that matter). His mum was great, but it couldn’t be her either. Uncle Charlus was too uptight, though Aunt Dorea had a mad genius for pranks. She wasn’t blood related, except about as closely as the average pureblood would be. Maybe it just randomly popped up in him. He knew wizarding gifts like metamorphmagery and parseltongue could do that sometimes. That, or he wasn’t a Potter after all, but he had the cool hair, amazing flying skill, poor eyesight, and luck of a Potter, so he was either a Potter, or a duck. 

It was at that moment he was distracted by screams. 

* * *

Seeing the new first years was always an interesting experience. Apart from Horace (who only bothered with a select few) and Hagrid (who was too busy stopping the poor children from drowning, though he hardly managed that some years), Minerva was the first to actually see them. She knew some of the muggleborns already, from taking them their letters. Lily Evans and Mary MacDonald would make fine Gryffindors, though she was slightly biased. It was a shame that the betting between the teachers on who went to which house didn’t include the muggleborns, except in cases of siblings. Given that the number in each house was usually fairly even, she still had a slight advantage. But that was mostly negated since Horace was extremely accurate when guessing relatives of his ‘Slugs’, and he always made a few last minute bets for anybody interesting he met on the train. 

Minerva was looking forward to this year especially. Appolius (the Divination professor) had been smiling throughout the betting process. He was forbidden from actually betting, since, according to him, his ‘Inner Eye’ gave him an unfair advantage. She didn’t believe that, but he was certainly good at guessing whether something bad or good was about to happen. Then again, it may have just been that he was laughing, like the rest of them, at Horace’s bet of five galleons on Gryffindor for Sirius Black. Personally, she thought that he was bluffing in an attempt to get the rest of them to bet wrong. He was a Slytherin, even if his talents appeared to be more in the line of connections than smarts. 

However, on reflection, the boy who couldn’t be anything other than a Black, from his facial features, his top of the line (albeit scruffy in a way she doubted the rest of his family would ever allow) robes to his iconic smirk, did seem a lot like a Gryffindor to her. He was standing next to a boy she assumed must be a Potter - he looked almost exactly like his father. His name was James, if she remembered correctly. As sure a Gryffindor as she’d ever seen, even if he looked a little worse for wear from the boat ride. 

She considered stepping in - tradition be damned! - when Black spoke about the troll, but she was too slow to stop him spilling the actual secret. Of course the Blacks would break tradition, even though they claimed to value it so highly. 

It was obvious that many had doubts still, and she didn’t blame them. If she didn’t know better, she probably wouldn’t have believed the boy either, after the trick he pulled, and the way he grinned as he said it. How any child of Orion and Walburga ended up like that she had no idea. She’d only met them in person a couple of times, as their Hogwarts years didn’t overlap from what she remembered, but those times and what she knew from teaching Cygnus’ lot was more than enough to be certain that it’d be a miracle if any of their children turned out sane, let alone happy. What’s more, she was certain that it had to be Sirius Black, and, unless there’d been a scandal she hadn’t heard about from the hundreds of gossipping teenagers as well as the Daily Prophet, he was raised by those nutcase excuses for parents that were Orion and Walburga. Or given to the house elves to raise, but that was hardly better. 

She surveyed the prospective students again. Most she recognised, either as muggleborns she’d met or as relatives to people she knew either from her own school years, people she’d worked with, or students she’d taught. Wizarding genetics were weird like that, having people look almost identical to their parents or look nothing like them at all (the Blacks, as pureblood as they were, had obvious examples, Bellatrix and Andromeda being practically identical, and Narcissa looking very different, but every family had a few examples). Also, most pureblood families had black, red or blonde hair, with brown usually appearing amongst those with recent muggle heritage. It was more confusing that advanced arithmancy. 

The children had quietened as much as it was possible for those excitable young people going to Hogwarts for the first time, for some their second real experience with the magical world. For most of them, even wizard raised, it would be their first time exposed to such a large gathering of wizards, excluding Diagon Alley. These days it was getting more and more common for children to be practically isolated for the first eleven years of their life, then thrown into the deep end when they went to school. Also for the first time. However, this wasn’t the best time to rant about the lack of any formal education before the age of eleven, which left some massively disadvantaged and those who’d had tutors for magic in some ways ahead but in others, depending on the quality, even further behind than those who’d had no previous magical education at all. There was little she could do except make sure none of them would injure themselves from performing a transfiguration incorrectly. It was frustrating sometimes. 

It was then that the ghosts arrived. They were either early (ghosts, being dead and away from ‘mortal troubles’, saw no real reason to keep to strict schedules, except Professor Binns, who kept to such a strict schedule he’d teach even if no one turned up), or this year was exceptionally bad at quietening down. To think that she’d been looking forward to this year (although, with a Black, Potter and Moon, among others, she wasn’t entirely sure why). She took a moment to note that no one had fainted - two galleons to Pomona, then - even if more than a few looked as white as the ghosts in front of them. She still hadn’t found out whose wonderful idea it was to shock nervous first years who’d likely never seen a ghost before with a whole horde of them flying through the walls. 

Hopefully they’d hurry up and get on with whatever they wanted to say. Apart from the ones lucky enough to have sensible parents, or those who Horace favoured (there was little crossover between those two categories, for some reason), few of them would have eaten anything other than sweets for hours, and they’d have the whole Sorting to get through before they’d even get dinner. Mary MacDonald lived in Scotland, for goodness’ sake! It would be far simpler for her to drive to the nearest muggle town and then be picked up, but no, she had to take the Hogwarts Express because tradition and wizards not realising or not caring that muggles couldn’t apparate (not that that was safe for minors carrying a trunk and often an animal as well), floo, fly on a broom (also inconvenient with a trunk), or Portkey (horrifically expensive in late August and even worse on September 1st). Unfortunately, the main public floo in Scotland was in Hogsmeade, which could only be gotten to by apparition, floo, train, or portkey. Minerva made a mental note to arrange something by Christmas. She knew well the problems muggle-raised and muggleborn faced, and she could at least do something to help in this case. 

Luckily, the ghosts didn’t seem to be putting on too big a show this year. It was meant to be entertaining, but, apart from those who’d been warned by relatives, or the odd person who’d actually seen ghosts before (which was rare, almost all British ghosts were in Hogwarts), it was terrifying. She’d heard someone theorise that all the ostentatiousness of the Sorting and Sorting ceremony was invented to find out who the purebloods were as they usually wouldn’t be gaping at everything. It was a surprisingly sensible theory, which meant it couldn’t be true. Wizards weren’t sensible, they just loved dramatics, and anyway, it was often the halfbloods, who’d experienced the wonders of both the wizarding and muggle worlds who took it in stride. No doubt as the muggle world advanced further and further while the wizarding world stagnated, it would eventually be muggleborns who weren’t surprised. 

As the yelps of shock when the ghosts disappeared back through the wall died away, she stepped forward. No use delaying it, and she might as well get it over with. Might distract them, at the very least. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she began. Most were listening intently, although she distinctly heard someone whisper ‘hurry up’. Did they not realise that teachers had working ears (in most cases: Herbert Frump, the Defence Professor this year, had, apparently, got in the way of a bad curse which destroyed his hearing in one ear, though she’d heard rumours that it was from a questionably legal experiment)? Being a cat animagus gave her a slight advantage, but she’d likely have heard it anyway. 

She gave the offender a stern glare, honed by years of teaching, and then continued. “The start-of-term banquet will begin momentarily, but,” she paused, looking at each of them in turn, “before then, you will each be Sorted into one of four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Each one has its own values, none better than any of the others, only different, and each has had its own illustrious history.” 

She wasn’t entirely sure why the introduction was necessary, as every pupil should already know about the houses, either from relatives, or, for muggleborns, when they received their letters. Despite her attempts to be neutral, a lifetime of prejudice couldn’t be overcome by one short speech, so even if that was the aim, it wouldn’t work. 

“Your house will be like your family while you are at Hogwarts.You will have classes with them, eat with them, spend time in your house's common room with them. And, if you are lucky, play on the house Quidditch team with them. Not this year, however.” The usual cheers and groans erupted and she used that pause to scan their faces, noting who had reacted how: the two dark haired boys who had winced almost simultaneously at the word ‘family’, before hurriedly hiding it, for example. There was little she could do, but she’d do as best she could. 

She continued. “Your triumphs will earn you house points, but be warned, any misdemeanours will lose you them. At the end of the year, the House Cup will be awarded to whichever house has the most house points. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. 

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes. I would suggest that you smarten yourself up while you’re waiting.” 

* * *

The woman - McGonagall, if he guessed correctly, the Head of Gryffindor House, Quidditch fanatic, Deputy Headmistress, and Transfiguration teacher - left the room. According to Andromeda, she was ‘harsh but fair’, and according to Bellatrix she was ‘stupid, useless, and biased towards Gryffindors’. He was inclined to agree with Andy, based on past experience, though she definitely seemed like a no-nonsense kind of person. Maybe he’d better hold off on doing pranks where she could catch him. 

On the other hand, it would be the perfect way to liven up a boring lesson, and he welcomed the challenge of not getting caught. After all, how bad could detention be? Not like they’d send them into the Forbidden Forest (which sounded interesting, actually), would they? Walburga - he refused to call her ‘Mum’ or ‘Mother’ - did have a worse bark than she had bite, but if he really annoyed her; for instance sneaking out into muggle London, well, ‘nuff said. Nothing the teachers could do could be any worse, really. 

“Now, form a line.” McGonagall was back, it seemed. 

Sirius made sure to get in the spot just behind James, and near enough to Remy and Pete (whatever their objections, they couldn’t lose those great nicknames, unless he came up with a better one) that they might be able to talk quietly. His not-quite-cousin (but, let’s face it, actually a cousin to some degree) Evan Rosier gestured at him to join his group of Avery, Mulciber and a couple of others, but Sirius pretended not to see. He didn’t know any of them except Evan that well, because, for some reason, his parents did their best to hide him from polite society. The main reason he knew Evan was because of family gatherings, and the Rosiers were invited as cousins of Druella, who’d married Cygnus. He thought they might be descended from his great-great-great-great-great-uncle whose name he could never remember, but he didn’t count that. If he went that far he’d have to admit he was related to almost everyone in Wizarding Britain, and it was bad enough to be related to the people he was. He was considering claiming the Weasleys and Longbottoms as relatives, though, since the Weasleys were disowned and Andy said they were nice, and the Longbottoms were from a line of aurors, which is what he wanted to be. While he thought about it, he’d definitely still claim Andy. 

They were led into the Great Hall, and he had to say… he wasn’t impressed. He’d been at Black Castle (inventive name) near Dartmoor enough times to know what an impressive magical castle could be like. Sure, Hogwarts had an entirely different colour scheme, with the red, gold, yellow, blue and green banners everywhere, but, when it came down to it, most of it was a pretty dreary gray. Infinitely more cheerful than Grimmauld Place, but even a prison would be. As soon as he learnt enough magic, he’d paint his room red and gold, but even that wouldn’t improve the rest of the house. 

So, anyway, Hogwarts could do with some sprucing up, especially a certain green and silver table at the edge. They looked like someone had died (to be fair, chances were all of them were related, in pureblood terms, to someone who’d died recently, but the cutthroat nature of politics would have meant that at least a few would be celebrating that anyway). 

He saw Andy at the end of the table, stubbornly refusing to wave even though he knew she wanted to. Narcissa was further down, staring intently at a wizard with long blonde hair (he’d look good in pink, Sirius was sure) who was probably Lucius Malfoy. The seal on all the love letters he’d pinched from Narcissa but been unable to open without being cursed had been some strange approximation of the Malfoy crest, anyway. No doubt Sirius had actually met the young Malfoy before but erased it from his mind because of the poor dress sense. Abraxus Malfoy was the sort of person Orion would love to have over for dinner to discuss business deals with, and Lucius would come too, waddling behind his father like a puppy behind his master. Did puppies waddle? Eh, the point stood.

Ah. They were moving again. That redhead who’d been in their compartment for a bit, the one that wasn’t a Prewett, Weasley or one of the other families that looked similar, was already at the front of the hall. Quickly, he flicked a random bit of paper he’d had in his ticket at Remus, who was staring gormlessly at the ceiling. Oh, yeah, enchanted ceiling, he’d heard about that. Not that uncommon, actually, though it was rare to have one so large. There’s been one at Grimmauld until he’d attempted to change it to show the sunniest place in the world. Apparently they were really hard and expensive to charm properly, so only old manors, the Ministry and Hogwarts had the highest quality ones, which was why Walburga hadn’t re-enchanted it. Only the best for the Blacks, or they’d throw you to the muggle savages, or so they said. (In other words, if they were slightly poorer than they'd like you to believe, they'd do their best not to give any hint of it by using anything 'inferior')

The line began moving again, and they soon reached the front. Sirius ignored Remy glaring daggers at him; he’d been trying to help, it wasn't his fault. The Sorting was more important. The House you got in would determine your life. At least not even the Blacks would make it determine your death, as well. Well. He wasn’t completely certain, given they preferred to send children to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons if they thought they were unlikely to get Slytherin, but as Sirius was the Heir it was difficult to do that. They had told him that the Hat would place him wherever he wished, meaning that he could get Slytherin if he really wanted it. 

Problem is, he didn’t. James, Remy and Pete were never going to get into Slytherin (he predicted Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively, so he was likely to get a friend no matter what house), and Slytherin was isolationist to the extreme. Hufflepuff was looked down on by almost all - part of the reason Andy couldn’t openly have a muggleborn boyfriend was because he was in Hufflepuff, though it was true that his blood status was a major obstacle. Or so Andy said, anyway. If every Slytherin hated muggleborns half as much as most of the Blacks, she was underplaying it. 

Besides, Slytherin was stuffy. Ravenclaw was too, even if the Blacks might manage to not detest it enough to disown him on the spot. Hufflepuff just wasn’t him, and he didn’t really want to be one if the Macmillans were the standard. Which left Gryffindor. He didn’t know much about it, except extremely biased opinions (both against and for), although it sounded awesome. James was bound to be there, and he’d be free to have fun. Unlike he would if he did what everyone wanted of him and go into Slytherin, murder the blood traitors in their beds, graduate with top grades, join the rising Dark Lord etc.. 

The thing was, choice or not, it wasn’t all up to him. The battered hat, which probably had lice, was the one who would ultimately decide. Until he got up there, he couldn’t know for certain. It really didn’t help when the hat started singing. He’d honestly thought that was just a joke. Time to tune out… actually, wait, that sounded sort of interesting. He’d missed the first verse or so, but it probably wasn’t vital. 

_They say Gryffindor was brave,_

_Yet is it not brave to learn despite your gender?_

_Is it not brave to leave your home to start a school?_

_Is it not brave to stand up for your beliefs?_

_They say Hufflepuff was hardworking,_

_Doesn't it take hard work to learn to use a sword?_

_Doesn't it take hard work to teach yourself magic?_

_Doesn't it take hard work to build a school?_

_They say Slytherin was ambitious,_

_But isn't it ambitious to want to learn it all?_

_Isn't it ambitious to aim for a better world?_

_Isn't it ambitious to seek to be the best?_

_They say Ravenclaw was wise,_

_Is wisdom not required in knowing when to act?_

_Is wisdom not required in backing down when needed?_

_Is wisdom not required to realise when to stop?_

_So follow in your Founder’s footsteps,_

_Be brave and ambitious,_

_Be wise and hardworking,_

_It took them all to build this school._


End file.
